


Write Your Name

by Rein333



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:18:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rein333/pseuds/Rein333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What more could anyone ask for than to date and live with (even if only for a few short weeks) a wealthy, handsome Frenchman in a secluded mountain estate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction

Francis. Mr. Bonnefoy. Trillionaire, genius, playboy extraordinaire. The man himself was the stuff of legends in the various suburbs surrounding the slopes of Alpex Heights yet his name was known to all. Children giggle over it in the playground, adults whisper it to each other in hushed tones, teenagers dream of the opulence associated with it. Despite his frequenting the very suburbs that were awash with rumors about him, nobody can claim to have seen him or spoken with him. Ask anybody and they won’t be able to tell you a single thing about Francis Bonnefoy except that he is amazingly rich, supposedly very handsome, and the most devious playboy who ever was. Ask the right person however, and you just might be treated to a tale of a daring foray into the mountain palace and the dazzling secrets hidden behind the ornate gates to the Frenchman’s estate. But of course, life’s not a dream, and love is all just a game.

\--

Francis reclined in his custom made leather office chair as he eyed the stack of papers on his desk. The Frenchman sighed in annoyance and swiveled around in his chair so he was facing the glass wall of his study. His estate opened up before him, the edges of his well-trimmed lawns and carefully cultivated gardens fading into the horizon, the far line of mountains just barely visible over the edge. Francis smiled as he admired the view. Truly, his estate was _très magnifique_ , as of course, was suitable for him. A polite knock at the heavy oak doors to his study interrupted his appreciation of his estate.

“ _Entres_ ,” he called lazily and turned back around to face the door.

A slight, stern-looking young woman with pale brown hair braided over her shoulder stepped into the study. “I have the contact info of the one you wanted,” she said simply and walked up to the front of the large desk.

Francis smiled fondly at his niece and secretary,” Ah, _merci beaucoup_ Lucille, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Lucille frowned and sniffed delicately, “I’m sure you would be able to get along just fine Uncle.”

Francis chuckled at her attitude and scanned the packet she handed him. It was a typed overview all concerning a certain gentleman by the name of Arthur Kirkland who Francis had become quite enamored with after hearing the man--who was English judging by his accent--sing one night when Francis had been drinking at his favorite bar.

“Well, what do you think?” Lucille pressed, “I have to return to university soon. Guiliano and I already settled on a date for his grandfather to take us back to the dorms next week.”

“Well, I have to actually meet the man first,” Francis said somberly before smiling up at his niece again. “I can take care of myself; go enjoy yourself at school like you always do.” At his Francis paused and seemed to think of something. “Don’t forget, I fully approve of that Italian _garçon_ you are such good friends with. Don’t hesitate to ask me to put in a good word for him with your mother when the time comes.” The Frenchman winked suggestively.

Lucille blushed slightly at the not-so-subtle way her uncle had just pointed out that he wanted her to date the Italian and responded by lifting her chin slightly in a haughty manner. “Mother said she is coming to pick me up at five this afternoon since I will only have a week left of vacation. She disapproves of your monopolizing my time.”

“Your mother disapproves of me in general _ma petite nièce_.”

“Hmph. Go take care of yourself then.”

Francis smiled a little wistfully as the door shut heavily behind Lucille. His sister Michelle disapproved quite a bit of his choice of lifestyle but it definitely was not what he had wanted. He had achieved the majority of his goals quite early in life and had quickly risen to become CEO of the wealthy company his father had founded by the time he was 17. He had planned, designed, and saw to the creation of his mountain estate (or “the Mountain Palace” as the people in town often called it) within 2 years. Now at the age of 23, Francis was working on tackling his biggest dream after achieving success: finding someone he could share his wealth and life with. But while he had been gifted in the regard of climbing in social standing, he had no luck at all in finding love despite being as close to the embodiment of French amour as anyone living being had gotten. Jaded by his numerous relationship failures, Francis had long since given up on the faint hope of meeting someone who just was and instead challenged himself to bouts of relationship games. It always hurt less to think that all he lost was a game for his own amusement.

Preoccupied by his reminiscing, Francis once again looked through the results of the research Lucille had completed for him regarding Arthur. (And no, it wasn’t stalking. It was research.) The large browed, emerald eyed man pictured on the first page of the packet turned out to be London born and raised, enjoyed embroidery, and ran the quaint bookshop in town. It also appeared that he had received quite a sum in inheritance money but no property due to his status as the fourth and youngest son of a relative of the Queen of England.

“Well,” Francis sat up straight for first time that afternoon, “I hope this turns out into an interesting new game.”

\--

“Bloody hell! Someone pick up that bloody phone already!” Arthur called irritably towards the front desk of his bookshop. He loved his shop, it had always been his dream to run a bookshop after all, but the place was so damn small that any noise in one part of the store could be heard loud as day in every other part. And his desk phone’s ringtone was not exactly the mildest, most soothing thing to listen too. Think train whistle and air horn all packaged into the shrill stereotypical old timey phone ring. Too bad there was no way to change it.

The Englishman sighed in relief as the noise finally ceased when one of his two shop assistants answered it. Turning his attention back to the box of bestsellers he was putting up for display in the young adult section when the phone started ringing, he tuned out the bland greeting his assistant, a young Norwegian man named Lukas, deadpanned into the receiver. Arthur started when he felt someone tap his shoulder. His second assistant, a Romanian named Vladimir, stood just behind him.

“Lukas says that the person wants to talk to you.”

“What person?”

“The person on the phone. Some French guy ask to speak with the manager.”

“Why couldn't Lukas just tell me himself?”

“Because you’re old fashioned enough to still use a corded phone in this day and age.”

Arthur glowered at Vladimir, his thick browns drawing together as the Romanian smiled innocently at him. “Fine I’ll get it. Finish with the books would you?” Not waiting for a reply, Arthur made his way through his shop to the front desk.

Lukas held the phone out to him silently. “He doesn't sound familiar but he seems to be well acquainted with you, Arthur. He also wouldn't give me a name.”

At this Arthur frowned. The only people he was well acquainted with were his regular customers and his two assistants. He wondered who the mystery man on the other end of the line could be. “Thanks Lukas.”

The Norwegian nodded and turned toward the door as it opened and greeted the person who walked in. Arthur turned his attention to the phone and held it up as he settled comfortably onto the wooden stool behind the counter.

“Hello, this is Faerie Shelves, Arthur Kirkland speaking. How may I help you?”

“Mr. Kirkland, I must say it is such an honor to speak with you,” a smooth, accented voice all but purred across the line.

Arthur frowned at the accent. French indeed. He didn't know any French people who lived in the area. “Who is this?” he asked suspiciously, “Why do you seem so familiar with me?”

The person on the phone chuckled, “Of course we are rather familiar with one another Arthur dear. After all, I am part of that loyal audience you gather once a month at that one pub, what was the name, ah yes the Britannia to hear your lovely singing _mon_   _cher ami_."

Arthur leaned back and squinted at the phone before replacing it in its original spot next to his ear. “Really. Who the bloody hell is this? If you’re not a customer then stop bloody wasting my time you wanker.”

He was met with another infuriating chuckle. “If I tell you my name then you must absolutely pay a visit to my home sometime. I am dying to meet you.”

 


	2. Nice to Meet You

_Nice to meet you, where you been?_

_I could show you incredible things_

_Magic, madness, heaven, sin_

_Saw you there and I thought_

_Oh my God, look at that face_

_You look like my next mistake_

_Love's a game, wanna play?_

Arthur checked the address scrawled on the page he had torn from his notepad again. Seriously, what sort of person gives an address leading up the mountain under the name of Francis Bonnefoy? While the Englishman had initially toyed with the idea that it was the one and only Francis Bonnefoy from the rumors who had suddenly called him and left an address, he realized that it was more than likely someone playing a prank on him. And he couldn’t wait to get his hands on whatever bloody wanker had felt it necessary to trick him.

Arthur grumbled to himself the whole way down the stairs from his flat. He had had to close his shop today just to pay the demanding French frog who had suddenly called a visit. Damn him. Now Arthur had to waste money paying for the gas his car was sure to guzzle driving up the mountain.

\--

Francis paced the spacious hallway extending the west wing of bedrooms in his estate. Every so often, he glanced down at the silver wristwatch he wore under the sleeve of his suit. There was still an hour left till noon when he had arranged for Arthur to come but the Frenchman was already getting anxious. Arthur wasn’t like any of his other prey—ahem—game partners. Francis was going to have to use every ounce of _amour_ he had in him to woo the grumpy Englishman. Good thing Francis thrived on challenges.

\--

Arthur gaped. There really was nothing better for him to do. He hadn’t expected much to come from driving up the one road that led to through the mountain and had followed the small branching road that curved into the trees. The large, fancy gate had given him pause. The estate (it was a “Mountain Palace” indeed. How could the monstrosity be considered a house?) itself was nothing like Arthur had seen, even in movies. He estimated it to cover about as much acreage as the entirety of the small town he lived in, maybe more and was comparable to the lands that medieval English lords might have possessed.

He balked as he approached the front entrance. There was an intimidating aura around the building and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect on the other side. “C’mon Kirkland, get it together. All you have to do is ring the bell, go in, meet whatever sort of bastard Francis Bonnefoy turns out to be and get out of here,” he mutters under his breath. Repeating this mantra to himself, the Brit presses the buzzer located along the side wall of the alcove that the door was set into. The door is opened almost instantly by a maid. Arthur, momentarily distracted by the fact the man kept maids in this age, caught his breath as he caught sight of the mansion’s entrance hall. The inside of the building was just as elegant and ornate as the outside had been. He gaped some more.

“Ah, welcome to my estate _mon cher_ Arthur,” the infuriating voice that Arthur had become quite acquainted with over the phone drew the Brit’s attention to the top of the landing on the story above the foyer.

The snappy reply he had prepared died in his throat as he caught sight of the man casually leaning against the railing and looking down at him. Pale blond hair fell in soft waves around the man’s face to just below his ears. Light sapphire eyes smiled down at him from a face with delicately chiseled features.

“You’re _the_ Francis Bonnefoy? I thought you would be older.” Arthur internally kicked himself for stating something so obvious.

The blond chuckled in reply, seemingly unperturbed by the Brits’ bluntness. “Indeed, I am Francis Bonnefoy, or of course, _the_ Francis Bonnefoy as I seem to be known by most people. I must say, it really is a pleasure to meet you Arthur.

Arthur instantly scowled at the Frenchman’s haughty tone. “So you’re that wanker they say goes gallivanting around changing partners every other week?”

A catlike grin spread over Francis’s face at the confrontational way Arthur addressed him. He was secretly delighted that Arthur was prickly, he hadn’t had a challenge like winning over a straight and stubborn man like Arthur since his last boyfriend a few months ago. Well, he had to savor this challenge a little before he truly put effort into winning Arthur over. Francis was a man who gets what he wants after all.

“ _Mon cher_ , I didn’t see it so clearly all those times you sang for me at that bar but eyebrows are truly _énorme_. Have you ever considered fixing them?”

As expected, the Brit quickly brought one had to his eyebrows, his already heavy scowl deepening even further. “You bloody frog! What sort of person invites someone over and insults them as soon as they meet? And my eyebrows are perfectly normal thank you.” Arthur spit out a few more choice curses as he glared up at the amused man.

Francis had the nerve to chuckle teasingly, “Consider it a compliment _mon cher_. Your personality is also quite a bit more abrasive than I imagined given your beautiful singing.”

The Brit sniffed disapprovingly. “Any normal person sounds mellower when they sing. You can’t really aim to judge someone just by the way they sing can you?”

“True enough. Enough of this banter. I trust you are hungry?” Francis studied Arthur’s face closely as he made his way down the curving staircase that connected the lower and upper floors of his estate. He quite liked the proudness that the Brit was displaying, especially the way his emerald eyes glinted with pride. It suited his delicate aristocratic features quite well.

Francis’s question earned him another disgruntled huff from Arthur who eyed his as he descended the staircase. “Shouldn’t you tell me why you wanted me here first? You were rather tight-lipped during our conversation over the phone.”

“You will find out over lunch, I promise.”

Arthur studied the Frenchman a while longer. Francis Bonnefoy really differed a lot from his own imaginings. And lunch did sound good, even if Arthur was still suspicious of the man’s motives for calling him out here. This man definitely did not seem the type to invite just anyone over for lunch. “You better have prepared something good then. I want a full explanation and something hearty to eat to make up for my having come all the way out here just because you wanted to meet me.”

“Of course! I would not have prepared anything less for you Arthur. Now this way, follow me and we can have a nice long conversation while we eat. I have many things I would like to talk to you about that I trust you will find quite a few benefits in my plan,” Francis swept away with Arthur trailing behind him.

The Frenchman closed his eyes briefly and sighed to himself as soon as his back was turned to the Brit. He smiled fondly as he heard Arthur exclaiming at the paintings lining the hall that led to the dining room before biting his lip, his heart thudding with excitement. Arthur was a bigger catch than he had estimated and the game was dangerously close to veering out of Francis’s control. It was imperative that he didn’t fall for Arthur. If he did, the game would end up being real.

\--

“You…what?” Arthur froze, his spoon poised halfway between his mouth and his bowl. For what felt like the millionth time that day, he is left to gape at the man who sat across the long table from him. “You’re kidding right?”

Francis smiled slightly at the pink flush that spread across the Brit’s face and raised his glass of wine a little to gesture with. “Not at all _cher_ , I’m a man of word if nothing else,” he answered in his most calming voice. “And I am really dead serious in asking this of you.”

Francis leaned back and watched as the Brit sitting across from him spluttered and searched for something to say. A slight frown creased Francis’s brow. It certainly didn’t appear as though Arthur was very open to the idea of being a part of the little game the Frenchman had been so excited about. “Just give me a chance won’t you Arthur,” Francis chose to fall back on the most what had proven to be his most reliable tool in persuading reluctant partners, he purring accent. He would show this grumpy Englishmen just how beautiful life could be under the wing (and wealth) of Francis Bonnefoy.

The object of Francis’s affections, however, seemed unaffected by the Frenchman’s charm and had settled for giving his host a deadpan glare. “I don’t see how I can possibly accommodate your…ah…interesting request of me. I find it quite deplorable that you even think to ask this of me.”

“But that’s the purpose of this meeting isn’t it? I have rest of this day to convince you to spend the next week with me as a trial period. If I still haven’t won you over by the end, you are free to leave, _d’accord mon chéri_?”

“Fine I’ll give you a week. But I had better not regret closing my shop for the next week frog.”

Francis smiled at the Brit’s grudging acquiescence to his demands.

Arthur’s only response is yet another withering glare from under those bushy eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped but I hope you enjoy it!


	3. Rumors Fly (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors spread like wildfire through Arthur’s town and the surrounding suburbs. Everyone wants to know what the elusive Francis Bonnefoy is like. Questions and shenanigans abound. Arthur finds peace in the estate.

_New money, suit and tie_

_I can read you like a magazine_

_Ain't it funny, rumors fly_

_And I know you heard about me_

_So hey, let's be friends_

_I'm dying to see how this one ends_

_Grab your passport and my hand_

_I can make the bad guys good for a weekend_

Arthur settled as comfortably as he could on the wooden stool that stood behind the front counter of his little bookshop. It had been a week since he had first been to visit Francis’s estate and today was going to be the first time that he went on a date with Francis. Settling his chin in his hand and leaning forward onto his knees, the Brit stared sightlessly at the welcome mat just inside the door and mentally went over his plan for the night for the fifth time in the past hour. First he would leave an hour early and leave the store to Vladimir and Lukas before heading home to prepare. He would finally have a chance to wear that new suit he bought a while back. Dinner with Francis shouldn’t take more than two hours which would leave time for Arthur to relax with his nightly cup of tea and his cat Pendragon…

The ringer chimed as the door to the bookshop swung open and was immediately followed by an obnoxiously loud German voice that snapped the Brit out of his reverie.

“And here Lizzie is the most old fashioned store in town run by the grumpiest man alive.”

Arthur glared at the speaker. It was his somewhat enemy’s best friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt, an annoying (and in Arthur’s humble opinion, crazy) albino German who insisted on being referred to as Prussian.

“To what do I owe this pleasure of seeing you yet again for the third time this month?” the Brit asked dryly.

“Vell the awesome me just wanted to come by and keep the stuffy, not awesome you company for a short while. Just, you know, share my awesome glory a bit?”

“Gilbert, I assure you, I am not in need of any of your so-called ‘awesomeness’. In fact, I would call if I felt any need to spend time with you. At the moment, the only thing I feel is that I am bloody grateful that you did not bring your blasted canary with you today.”

“Ah yes about mein awesome friend Gilbird,” the albino paused dramatically and continued after earning a death glare from the Englishman atop his stool, “He is currently residing at my old buddy Frannie’s residence so I can show mein not-as-awesome-as-me girlfriend Lizzie around.”

This statement was obviously not well received by the pretty brunette (Arthur was gay but not blind after all) who had followed Gilbert into his shop. Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the Prussian wilt under the angry glare of his girlfriend.

“Excuse you Gil, but I’m certain you meant to say something else about me,” she said tartly even as she crushed the albino’s hand in a death grip.

The Prussian whimpered in pain and stuttered, “A-after you mein very awesome girlfriend.”

Arthur snorted out loud at Gilbert’s suddenly meek demeanor and decided that he quite liked the brunette. Hopping off his stool he extended his hand over the counter in greeting. “My name is Arthur Kirkland. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you find my store agreeable?”

Gilbert’s girlfriend beamed at Arthur and let go of the Prussian’s hand as she instead accepted Arthur’s handshake. “Hi there! I’m Elizabeta but feel free to call me Eliza like my friends do!” she said cheerfully and pumped the Brit’s hand up and down in an enthusiastic handshake. Behind her Gilbert whimpered a little as he shook his injured hand and approached the counter.

“Vell now that you’re acquainted what d’you think of him Lizzie?” Gilbert asked with barely contained excitement, “This is the guy Frannie wouldn’t shut up about apparently.” He snickered a little at the thought and rolled his eyes, “Man Frannie’s tastes sure aren’t what they used to be if I do say so myself.”

Elizabeta eyed Arthur critically. Arthur squirmed under the intensity of gaze and felt a blush rising in his cheeks as her eyes slid lower and lower down his body until she was practically leaning over the counter to see his legs. He tugged in vain at his hand which Elizabeta still clasped in an iron grip.

“Excuse me?” he spluttered as Elizabeta suddenly jerked his hand towards Gilbert.

“Feel his hands,” she demanded, earning a surprised (and somewhat repulsed) shout of “what?!” from both men as she forced their hands together. “His skin is so soft!”

Gilbert made a gagging noise and practically threw Arthur’s hand onto the table as soon as Elizabeta let go of them both. “Gross! Zhe awesome me doesn’t do this ‘feel his soft soft skin’ thing!”

Insulted, Arthur snatched his hand back and cradled it against his hand. “At least I understand what lotion is,” he spat at the albino, “And I don’t recall enjoying being examined like a bug either.” He glared between the pair (he decided that he didn’t like Eliza as much as he did when she was chewing out Gilbert) and demanded, “What do you want anyway? If you have no business with me aside from…whatever _that_ was then please leave so I can attend to my customers.”

Gilbert waved his objections away and made a show of looking around the small bookstore before replying, “You have one customer and two assistants. Your shop von’t fail even if ve kidnapped you.”

“Wait what--?” Arthur’s protest was cut short as Gil and Eliza both grabbed one of his arms and pulled him rapidly toward the exit.

On their way out the door they passed Lukas who looked up from giving directions to a short Asian man with eyes as dull seeming as Lukas’s own ones who nervously clutched his books under Lukas’s blank gaze and waved unenthusiastically to the trio. “Have a good day, Vlad and I will close shop at the normal time,” he said in his usual monotone voice and turned back to the customer leaving Arthur’s protests and claims of being kidnapped to fall on one pair of deaf ears and another pair of uncertain and somewhat terrified ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am learning the hard way it is tough picking stuff up after just dropping it like that after more than a year. This will be slow in coming because major writer's block. Higher education does its part well in draining my creativity. I hope you guys liked this though!
> 
> Also, yay Japan cameo ^.^


	4. Announcements

I will delete this when I finish the next chapter but I'm back (kind of). It's been a long time since I've had time to work on this and I don't know if can update continuously but I will try! Real life is keeping me busy at the moment but it's almost Christmas which means break! (yay!) I will do my best to get possibly the next two chapters finished. At least I hope I can. Either way it's been more than a year since the last time I updated so thank you to all of you who have waited and I will do my best to hopefully live up to you expectations (and patience)~~

**Author's Note:**

> Well hooray, I messed with the ages a bit but I hope you like the story. I thought of this listening to Blank Space by Taylor Swift and kept thinking of France... (I really like France and this is mainly just toying with the idea that he keeps searching for and not finding love
> 
> Lucille--Monaco  
> Vladimir--Romania  
> Michelle--Seychelles  
> Guiliano--Seborga
> 
> Lyrics by Taylor Swift and characters/Hetalia by Hidekaz Himaruya--I don't own anything but the story! (But does what comes out of my brain belong to my brain or me?)
> 
> inspired by Blank Space--Taylor Swift (yes, even the title and yes I think TSwift is pretty amazing)
> 
> Please review, comment, give feedback. Thanks~~


End file.
